


Pretty To Think So

by nightcamedown



Category: Leverage
Genre: Banter, Conversations, Episode Tag, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-30
Updated: 2010-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-12 08:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightcamedown/pseuds/nightcamedown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-ep for The Tap Out Job, wherein Nate admits to poor planning and Eliot threatens to fight his way out of a bathtub.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty To Think So

Nate squared his shoulders, knocked on the bathroom door, and cracked it open without waiting for a response. "Can I come in?"

Eliot looked up at him and sighed. He was reclined in the bathtub, the water so high it lapped against his chin and so hot that plumes of steam rose in front of his face every time he moved. "Thought I locked that."

It wasn’t a no, so Nate entered, letting the door stand slightly open behind him. Eliot seemed pretty well inured at this point to the team being wildly intrusive, but there was annoying Eliot, and then there was locking yourself into an enclosed space with an injured Eliot without his permission. Nate may have had boundary issues, but he wasn’t stupid.

"How you feeling?" Eliot gave him an incredulous look, and Nate inclined his head. "Okay, yes. That was a stupid question."

Eliot’s gaze went to the beer bottle in Nate’s hands. His voice dropped an octave or three. "Nate - "

"Not mine." He tipped the bottle forward so Eliot could see the cap, in place and untouched. He set it on the side of the tub. "Since you’re too stubborn to take real pain meds."

"Thank you," Eliot said, drawing it out like a question. He lifted the bottle absently, turning it in his hands, then put it back down without opening it. "Can I help you with something, or – "

"You sure you shouldn’t have the CT scan?"

Eliot put his head to the side and gave him a flat look. "This ain’t my first rodeo, Nate."

"Still." Nate sat on the closed lid of the toilet, ignoring Eliot’s warning rumble. "Couldn’t hurt."

"It’s a waste of time. A good night’s sleep, and I’ll be right as rain."

Nate had no reason to believe Eliot had _had_ a good night’s sleep in the last decade or so, but now didn’t seem the time for that discussion. "Right as rain, huh?"

Eliot shrugged. "Chicks dig black eyes."

"I thought it was scars."

"Then I guess I’m good either way."

"I really think - "

"Nate." There was some force behind that, though Eliot’s expression stayed calm. "Say what you have to say."

"The plan was crap," Nate said, "and I should have come up with another way."

"Well, don’t lose any sleep over it." An incongruous grin creased Eliot’s cheeks and puffed out the bruised skin around his eye. "It’s what I do, right?"

He tipped his head back and closed his eyes on a long exhale, still smiling like he was in the midst of a particularly fond memory. Nate knew that his hitter was never happier than on the rare occasions someone obliged his desire to be beaten half to death, but it was still a damned strange thing to see. That desire was a serious problem, and as such it ranked with all the other serious problems on Nate's radar - right below the insurmountable problems, and the problems critical, severe, and unforeseen, there, right there, was Eliot's endless thirst for punishment, penciled into Nate's mental notebook very near the top of the list of things he needed to fix and would never, ever be able to.

At the moment, though, Eliot seemed relaxed and perversely cheerful, and if there was one thing Nate still held to be sacred it was the addict's hard-earned buzz. He took a deep breath and put aside that particular train of thought. "I want you to know I don’t take it lightly,” he said. “I won’t put you in that position again if I can help it."

He looked at Eliot expectantly. After a few beats of silence, Eliot opened one eye and squinted at him. "Oh. Were you waiting for me to say something?"

Nate rolled his eyes. "No, no, just thought I’d come in here and monologue for awhile."

"See, you say that like you’re joking," Eliot said. "I think you just couldn’t resist a captive audience."

"I don’t monologue," Nate said coolly.

"Okay."

"Sometimes the things I have to say just take some time to say."

"Don’t I know it."

"I may go on, a little, at times. Occasionally I riff." Eliot chuckled, and Nate stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles. "I still think you should have the CT scan."

"Naw." Eliot gave him another loopy smile. "Somebody might want to get Hardison some saltines or something, though."

Hardison had been fine at the gym. It wasn't until he'd been starting the van and the headlights caught Eliot limping across the parking lot with all the grace of an arthritic old man that his skin had developed that unmistakable green tinge. "Ah. You noticed that."

"It's hard when you're not used to it," Eliot said. "The whole – " He moved one hand in a vague circle. "You know. Up close."

Nate played with the loose edge of the toilet paper. "It's pretty hard even when you are used to it."

He could feel Eliot's gaze on him. He didn't look up, and after a long moment Eliot sighed, put his head back, and slid below the surface. His knees came up out of the water as he sank down. Nate looked at them. They were bruised black and blue.

"Jesus," Nate said under his breath, and scrubbed a hand through his hair. He looked at the bottle of beer, as if for sympathy. A drop of condensation formed on the neck and slid down across the label, and he felt the abrupt pang of _wanting_ , more strongly than he had wanted anything in a long time. He wasn't sure exactly what he wanted - only that it started with that beer in his hand and ended, somehow, with no fucking bruises on anybody's kneecaps.

Fortunately, the decision was taken from him before he could convince himself to start with the beer and trust that the rest of the plan would work itself out. Eliot surfaced and pushed the hair back off his face and plucked the beer from the edge of the tub in one smooth motion. "Uh uh. Don't even think about it."

"I wasn't."

"Bullshit," he said mildly. The beer found a new home perched on the soap dish jutting from the shower wall. It wasn't technically out of Nate's reach, but there was a whole lot of Eliot in between him and it. That bottle might as well have been on the moon.

"I was just looking." Nate propped his shoulder against the sink and crossed his arms. "And, you know. I kinda forgot to look away."

"Well, don't forget." Eliot reflexively tried to cross his arms. Midway through the motion his face went blank, and he lowered his arms carefully back down to his sides.

Nate had seen that look so many times it didn't even register as deception. His mind understood the signal for pain as clearly as he would have read a wince from Sophie or Parker, or girlish squeals from Hardison. "You want the - "

"Nope."

"You should - "

"Nate, I'm not taking the drugs. And we both know you can't make me. So drop it."

"I don't know. This might be the one time I could take you." Eliot summoned a glare that was pretty impressive coming from a naked guy who could only actually open one eye at the moment. Nate grinned. "Could be a once in a lifetime opportunity."

Eliot sighed and raised his fists in a half-hearted _put up your dukes_ pose. "Man, I just took down a guy named Tank. _Tank_. You think I can't fight my way out of this tub?"

"I don't know," Sophie said from the doorway, "but I'd pay to see you try."

"Jesus." Eliot dropped his hands, and the bathwater sloshed indignantly against the sides of the tub. "It's like a fucking train station in here."

She hummed unconcernedly and stepped into the bathroom. "Excuse me," she said to Nate, leaning past him and reaching into the tub to turn on the hot water. She fiddled with the drain and let water rush out for a few moments before closing it again. "Just warming the bath, darling."

Nate was pretty distracted by the press of her waist against his chest, but he spared a brain cell to mouth “Darling?” across her back at Eliot. Eliot looked like he would have rolled his eyes if the hot water hadn't reached him at that exact moment. His expression was - well, it was about what Nate expected his own expression would have been if he’d had his way with that beer. Blissful. He saw the tension in Eliot’s shoulders uncoil as he slipped back down until the water reached his bottom lip. "I love you," Eliot said muzzily to Sophie.

"Of course you do. I'm quite loveable." She twisted the handle back to turn off the hot water, then stood and looked over Eliot without any attempt whatsoever to hide her evaluating gaze, nor the approving raise of her eyebrow. "Very nice," she said archly, "very nice indeed," and with that she sailed out the bathroom like a queen exiting her royal chambers.

Nate watched her go. When he turned back, Eliot was grinning at him.

"Much as I appreciate the sentiment," he said with a chuckle that made the surface of the water shiver, "you do know that was for your benefit."

Nate shrugged. He was going for completely indifferent, but judging by the way Eliot’s eyes were twinkling he wasn’t quite pulling it off. "Clearly she was being charitable. Because you’re injured."

"Okay. Whatever you need to tell yourself." Eliot put his head back against the tub and closed his eyes. After a few moments his breathing slowed and began to even out.

"You shouldn't fall asleep in the bath."

That earned him a dismissive grunt. "Not sleeping. Just resting my eyes."

"I guess I'll sit here and make sure you don't drown while you rest your eyes." Nate shifted, settling his shoulder more firmly against the sink. "If you don't mind."

"Suit yourself, man." It was as near to accepting help as Eliot Spencer was ever likely to go. Nate smirked. Without opening his eyes, Eliot muttered, "Don't smirk."

"Resting your eyes is supposed to be a silent activity," Nate said shortly. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a shadow in motion: Parker, rising from where she had been sitting cross-legged in the hall, just out of Eliot's line of sight. She crept into the doorway and was joined by Hardison, who shot a questioning look at the tub and raised his eyebrows at Nate.

"He'll be fine," Nate said. Eliot made a low sound that might have been agreement or might have been a snore. Nate met Hardison's doubtful gaze. He summoned his most reassuring smile and made the lie sound true. "He'll be just fine."


End file.
